Could Not Stop for Death
by almcvay1
Summary: Super short Red-centric story, Lizzington theme appears. First attempt.


Could Not Stop for Death

The woman in the park with the dog looked like the right type. Some jewelry, a nice watch, probably some cash and credit cards. The man in the black baseball cap slouched on the bench and tried to look harmless. His switchblade was in his jacket pocket and he fiddled with it while he waited for a few joggers to make their way up the path. His eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, it had been days since his last fix, roved the nearby area. He checked for witnesses, for cameras, for anything that could catch him when he made his move. Seeing nothing, the woman with the dog still just strolling along, he stood, slowly and his switchblade was warm in his left hand.

The weight of the barrel of the pistol was a surprise on the back of his neck. He hadn't even noticed another man in the park, but as a black parka-clad arm snaked around his throat, he realized that he hadn't looked behind him. He should have known better than that.

Now he's cuffed to a bench, much deeper in the trees, and the man in the black parka and the watch cap is watching him carefully, the gun never wavering. The man was older, there were lines around his eyes and mouth, but the calluses on his hands when he cuffed him told the tale; this man was no stranger to Death.

Red regarded his captive with tired eyes and even more exhausted soul. He had been chasing information for a week now. His hope of resolving the leak in his organization in a speedy manner was growing dimmer by the minute. Probably not helped by the fact that he kept carving out time to check on his Lizzie. She seemed okay after Anslo's little surprise party; Mr. Kaplan had told him of her single-minded determination to find him, save him if she could. It warmed his heart, just a little that she thought he could be saved. He had been dropping bodies in his wake for two days now, and he is fairly sure that, if Lizzie knew, she would be reconsidering his redemption. He liked to watch her in this park, he didn't love that she went out early morning alone with just Hudson as company. So he kept his eye on her, and now, sure enough, he has to deal with this little issue. A junkie, desperate for a fix, had his eye on Lizzie, with a switchblade in his hand.

"You know, don't you, that had you attacked her, she would have knocked your teeth down your throat? She is a federal agent, and they don't pull their punches. But the lady has a soft heart, you see, that will always seek to help someone she believes is hurting," the junkie is staring at him like he's lost his mind, which is fine.

"Hey man, I didn't know she was yours. I just need some cash. She looked like she might have some," his voice was rough from disuse, shaking with beginnings of withdrawal.

"And you were just going to ask her for her spare change? Really? With a switchblade? No, see, I don't think that was what you had in mind at all," Red's voice had dropped an octave with his rising anger as he bent down, catching the man's thin jaw in his hand.

The junkie's eyes are wide and scared now. He knows Death is looking at him with glass green eyes, and not all of his shaking is owed to heroin now.

"I swear, man, I was just going to use it to…I don't know, convince her to hand it over. Maybe just her watch or earrings. I wasn't thinking."

"You weren't thinking. Of course not, you scoped the scene and forgot to look behind you. Clearly, not thinking. But you see, here is our problem, dealing with junkies, they can't be trusted. They will do anything to get the poison that rules them, and they don't care who they have to hurt in the process. That makes you a much nastier sort of problem," Red unlocked the cuffs, hauls the man up by his collar and drags him through the trees to the ravine that runs alongside.

"You don't know, couldn't possibly fathom, what that woman you were going to kill means to me. To you, she was a means to a fix. She was your next victim. So I don't expect you to understand or appreciate the value of Lizzie Keen. You don't know her light or her darkness or the bitterness of her temper. You would have gutted her like a fish, and left her lying on the ground, pearls before swine. You would never have even asked her name."

"What's your name?"

"Jack. Jack Hall," he stares down at the ravine, knowing it is his grave. In some small corner of his mind, he understands that the man in black is right. He would have killed the woman and left her body to rot or be discovered by some passer-by. All in the name of his next high.

"Hello, Jack. My name is Red."

The bullet kills him instantly. His body falls into the deep ravine. He lies as though sleeping. Red walks back through the park, carefully avoiding the area he knew Lizzie liked. He had told her if she was in need, he would be there. Even if she didn't know it.

Two weeks later, he is sitting across from Lizzie, smiling while she asks him where he's been. Here, his world is still and centered, and while he knows that there can be no excusing the human lives he has taken, while she is looking at him with her willow blue eyes, he considers it worth the price.


End file.
